Quickie
by Tempestt
Summary: Spike orchestrates a little show and tell that redefines Buffy's understanding of the quickie.


Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. It all belongs to Joss Whedon and affiliates.

WARNING: Not to ruin it for you, but Spike does have sex with another woman. But trust me, he only has eyes for Buffy.

A/N: I am deeply fascinated with the theme of Buffy cheating on Riley with Spike. Especially if its less about Riley bashing and more about him just being inadequate when compared to Spike's….charms. If anyone has some fic recs I would appreciate it.

**Quickie**

Spike didn't walk. He prowled. Sometimes he skulked, many times he swaggered, but mostly he prowled like a beast on the hunt. Especially when he was around her.

He was always at the margins, always in the shadows, but she knew when he was near. She watched from the circle of Riley's arms as he paced the perimeter of the dance floor, stalking the edges like a big tomcat looking for a way to paw through the bars of a cage where a tasty, quivering mouse sat in the center. Buffy wouldn't say she was mousy, but she was definitely quivering.

Buffy blamed Spike for that, and rightly so. But a little treacherous part of her blamed Riley more. She was used to Spike prowling after her, stalking her like prey. He would always hunt her. It was nature. Their nature. Now he was chipped, and the parameters of the hunt changed from physical to sexual. If he couldn't have her bloody and screaming then he would just have her screaming. She knew it. He knew it. And they both knew it would _never_ happen. Because no matter how much he prowled after her, she had the higher ground. She was better than him. She had the right and the _obligation_ to say no.

And that was why she was just a little bit pissed at Riley. Her conviction lay in the denial of her body's yearnings. If she was to remain above Spike, then she needed to stay strong against the niggling desires of her baser needs. She wasn't an animal like him to give into lust. She was a human being with a higher moral calling. But it's hard to be strong when you are weakened. When you are _betrayed?_—even unknowingly by those you trust the most. As her boyfriend, Riley was supposed to help her stay strong. He was supposed to bulwark her against her baser needs. He wasn't supposed to prime her with a ten minute quickie then take her out dancing while she was still heavy and swollen with denied release. She was weakened by need, by lust, by the ever repressive heat inside and out.

The club was humid, throbbing with music and blood. All the bodies mingling together made the air thick with bodily odors of sweat and sex. Summer melted into the cracks and crevices of the cement and tarmac of the city, emitting heat from the ground after dark. There was no escaping it. It was oppressive even inside air-conditioned buildings, a sensation of being smothered as it pressed in through the glass and sidewalls.

Riley was radiating heat, and she responded by beading sweat along her hairline. He kept swiping his big hand at her hip, but she danced away. He was too big, too hot, and too sweaty. Buffy's eyes rolled up as she closed them, lost in a sultry fog as she swung her hips in rhythm with the base.

"I need to hit the head. Stay here and dance. I'll be right back."

The overwhelming heat at her front was gone and she sighed in relief. Sensation crawled up her spine and nuzzled the base of her skull as a predator prowled at her back. She swung her hips deeper, a siren call for sex as she gathered her hair up in her hands, baring the long, smooth line of her nape in a feminine tease. She was playing out of bounds and she knew it. A taunt to remind him of what he couldn't have. Cool breath feathered the fine hairs along her spine and made her nipples harden beneath her scanty black blouse.

"The heat makes you glisten." His voice was dark and smoky, the softened vowels of his East London accent rolling over her skin. A cold tongue swiped her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat. She shivered and rocked her hips to and fro.

"You're not allowed to touch me with your tongue."

Fingers tightened around her hips in silent acknowledgement of her unvoiced permission that he could touch her in other ways. He slid his hands around until his fingertips found the hollows of her pelvis. She glanced down, taking in the contrast of his black chipped fingernails digging into her cream skirt. One finger found the gap between her skirt and blouse and was sliding against the golden, sweat-slicked skin of her midriff.

"I can smell it on you." His breath was cool and clean and made her think of winter. She arched back just to feel a little bit more. Her back was flush with his front and through the thin cotton of his tee she could feel the welcoming coolness of his body.

"What?" The word floated from between her lips on a sigh. She let her hair down, trailing it over his shoulder. He trapped one arm over her head by the tracing the delicate underside of her elbow, compelling her to let her hand fall back to tangle in the silky curls at his nape. His other hand snuck beneath her blouse, and she captured it, flattening it against her midriff in a cool web.

"Your frustration. Your need. I can smell him between your golden Slayer thighs, and yet you still ache. It's a crime to leave a lady wanting. To leave her starved and needy. 't's not right. Not right," he professed fiercely. His silken words dipped in chocolate and sin. A temptation not just in their tenor, but also in their promise. So many things he could do to her, for her, if she just let him in. Forbidden temptations, wicked promises. He was more than a demon; he was the devil looking to corrupt her. His fingertips danced along the underside of her arm, stroking her from her smooth armpit to her elbow. His other hand tried to work itself free from under hers so it could explore the slick contours of her body.

Something in her lower belly clenched and twirled. She swirled her hips in the hopes it would dissipate. A thick, hard bulge brushed the curve of her ass and the clench tightened. She rolled her head to the side, baring her neck to his mouth, wishing she hadn't set the guideline of him not touching her with his tongue. She desperately needed him to forge a cool swathe from the crook of her shoulder to the hollow beneath her ear. She needed him to cool her down while he heated her up.

"No time. Just a ten minute quickie before we came."

"Before he came, you mean," he sneered. "Time's not an excuse. A lady should always be seen to, even if the bloke's not. Not the other way around. _Never_ the other way around," he whispered against her skin, forming goose bumps down her spine with every word.

She ground herself against him, the combination of his words and the sensations he invoked making her heady. Her head rested perfectly in the hollow between his shoulder and neck, and she tilted her face to see the colored lights strung along the ceiling. They blurred together in a mosaic of white, gold and red.

"That's not how quickies work, Spike. They're how girlfriends keep their guys happy."

His arm tightened around her waist and his fingers dimpled the flesh around her belly button.

"Someone's been telling tall tales to li'l slayers," he growled in her ear.

"Maybe," she cajoled with a breathy hitch to her voice, secretly delighted by the animal roll in his tone. "But I can't get off in ten minutes. I doubt any woman could."

"You know what they say about assumptions, Slayer…"

She waited, her breath trapped in the hollow beneath her thumping heart. Her fingers, so leisurely tangling in his curls slid down so she could feel the sharp edge his cheekbone. His face was so beautiful. A fallen angel's cut from marble.

"Wha-" She stumbled into thin air. She whirled around, searching the crowd for a glimpse of platinum or a swirl of leather. Suddenly, there was an inferno at her back, crowding around her until her freshly cooled skin beaded with sweat.

"Miss me, baby?" Hot breath skittered across her nape and she twitched. She turned around, a smile plastered across her mask.

"Always."

He grinned and captured her hips in his big hands. She melted into him, their combined heat making the edges of their bodies pliable. Buffy never admitted she liked the edges. Edges kept you sharp, kept you alive. She danced on the razor edge between light and dark, good and evil, lust and love. She dipped and swirled, and waited for someone graceful enough not to fall off onto one side or the other.

"Let's get something to drink," he offered, a bead of sweat trailing from his temple down the line of his jaw.

"Good idea." She allowed his arm to snake around her waist, pulling her tight into his side. She ignored the musky odor of his sweat, and the clamminess of his shirt against her skin. He sat her at a table and went to the bar to get their drinks without asking what she wanted. Her needs were predictable. Her desires preset. There was never any need to ask if she wanted more, something different.

She scanned the room, knowing he would be at the margins. She saw a flash of platinum and found him at the edge, speaking with a beautiful doe-eyed girl. She was smiling up at him, her body leaning close. He was whispering into her ear, his fingers trailing the divot dividing the long muscles of her upper thigh. Buffy didn't have to hear the words to know what the girl was agreeing too.

He worked fast. Incredibly so. Only a woman used to restraining her desires, taming her baser urges could resist him for any length of time. He was a hunter. A damn fine one. Always would be. Blood was no longer the delicacy he feasted on. Sex was his dish of choice.

Spike rose from his seat, his hand outstretched to the girl. Happily she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Together they wound their way through the undulating shadows, populated by faceless dancers. Spike's natural grace made the girl seem innocent as he led her along the darkened path. Buffy watched as they slipped out the back door leading to the alleyway behind the Bronze.

"Diet coke." Riley placed a sweating glass in front of her with loud smack. Some of the dark liquid sloshed over, making a puddle on the table. "Oops, sorry." He swiped at the pool with a napkin.

"No problem, honey. Wait here a sec, would ya? I need to check something out."

"What? Is it vampires?" He scanned the club with dark eyes trained to see invisible threats, just not all the supernatural ones. Her proud all-American hero. All he wanted was to be her man. He danced, but never quite with her. He was too far away from the razor's edge, safely ensconced behind the walls of bigotry.

Buffy shrugged with practiced nonchalance, her girlfriend mask firmly in place. "Dunno, yet. Just gonna go take a look. You stay here." Her masked slipped and the Slayer flashed. Riley's lips stretched in an uncertain smile, and she knew she would pay for her mistake later. In small needy ways Riley made her regret what she was. She slipped off the stool and disappeared into the middle of the crowd.

It was just as muggy out as it was in. The air in the alley was thick with the stench of beer, vomit and rotten food. She turned to her left, passing a group of smokers huddling beneath the only light and prowled with a hunter's swagger deeper into the shadows. She heard a groan from a narrower alley leading to the warehouse behind the Bronze. She stayed in the shadows as she rounded the corner to a deserted nook between two buildings.

The cute doe-eyed girl was splayed out on a packing crate, the sacrificial virgin ready to be pierced. Her head was hanging off the edge, and Buffy could see every nuance of pleasure contorting her features. Her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth wrenched open. Between her spread thighs, Spike's hair gleamed in the moonlight. All he would have to do was lift his head and his penetrating blue eyes would catch her. She melded herself to the brick wall, as deep into the shadows as she could get.

"Oh my God. What are you _doing_ with your tongue? Don't answer that. Just don't stop. I will sell you my soul if you just don't stop." The girl twisted and turned, grinding her pussy against Spike's face. If this is what Spike heard every time he licked a woman's pussy then his swagger was well earned. The girl keened low in her throat, her hips arching off the crate. Spike had her by the hips, lifting her into the air so he could suck down every last drop of her orgasm.

"Fucking wow," the girl gasped, thoroughly boneless beneath him. He released her hips and stood up between her thighs. His blue eyes found her unerringly, even as deeply hidden in the shadows as she was. Buffy swallowed, but didn't slink away. With slow deliberate movements Spike undid his belt, his silver buckle flashing. He rolled down his zipper with one hand, and reached into his pants with the other. He pumped his length with smooth even strokes, his gaze never leaving hers.

"I don't think that's gonna fit," the girl huffed nervously. He hooked his fingers around the girl's hips before she could finish her protest and dragged her across the crate to impale her on his cock. "Oh. My. Fucking. God." He rocked his hips forward and the woman keened a litany of yeses and omigods in time to his thrusts.

"Touch yourself," Spike commanded Buffy. The doe-eyed girl trailed her hand down her midriff to her clit.

She watched as he fucked another woman and it was like watching the triple X channel on steroids. She slipped her fingers beneath the hem of her cream skirt and under the edge of her panties. Her pussy was soaked, slick to the touch, and oh so sensitive. Her swollen clit ached with need and unfulfilled desire. She twisted it between her fingers, her hips bucking away from the cool brick wall she leaned against. If she concentrated hard enough, she could imagine it was Spike's cool, muscular body at her back. She was so close, so very close.

Spike's blue eyes flashed yellow and his hips pistoned faster. "Cum for me, baby. Let me show you how it's supposed to be."

Buffy sank her fingers into her pussy, her clit trapped against the heel of her palm. Pleasure erupted beneath her skin, tightening and loosening in the bottom of her belly like a vise. She rocked her head against the bricks, her cries locked behind tightly clenched teeth. The woman beneath Spike screamed in a ragged torrent of unabashed bliss. Spike came inside her, his eyes locked on Buffy's face.

Slowly he pulled out, discreetly buckling himself up. The debauched woman could barely find the strength to rearrange her skirt. She lolled her head to the side to check her watch. "Wow, you got me off twice in eight minutes. That's like—wow. I just assumed."

"When you assume you make an ass out of u and me." She giggled and Spike flipped down her skirt, giving her an adorably abashed smile. "'m sorry, pet. Tell you what, take me home and I'll make it up to you."

"Make up? For what?" The woman's astonishment was clear. "You just redefined my understanding of the quickie. Trust me. There is nothing to make up for."

Spike trapped her hips between his fists as he leaned on the crate. "Sure there is, pet. Only twice? I think I'm gonna need to take all night to make up for that."

The woman gaped at him open-mouthed, but it was only momentary. She exploded into motion. "Yeah. Let me find my shoe. Fuck the shoe. Where're my house keys?" Unable to find her lost shoe, she tossed its mate into the trash and opted to walk barefoot. "I live just around the corner."

"Brilliant." He followed the girl from the alley, his leather duster swaying around his ankles as his prowl transformed into a swagger. He glanced over his shoulder, his vampiric eyesight easily seeing her in the dark. Buffy waited until they turned the corner before she returned to the club.

"Done already?" Riley asked as she sat down at the table.

"Yeah." She smiled, her girlfriend mask firmly in place. "It was just a quickie."

He returned her smile, assuming she was talking about her slay. She picked up her sweating glass, still chilly with ice, and rolled it over her pulse while wishing the cool, wet surface was soft like a tongue.


End file.
